Legends of Belariath
Malkar
Malkar's Beginnings
My birth was greeted with as much joy as my mother's pregnancy had attracted - a big fat zero, in fact less than that really. She had been raped by a wolfen when she had been out gathering herbs in the forest, and because of this had been ostracised by the community. For the six months she carried me she had to grub out a piteous existence, relying on hand-outs from friends who dropped off scraps and left-overs in the middle of the night. Despite her efforts to integrate back into the tribe: doing odd-jobs; menial tasks such as emptying the night soil, the people shunned her as a social outcast.
Her normally sunny disposition soured as the months passed, and when I was born, showing obvious lupine traits, the last straw was reached. She couldn't do the jobs without carrying me with her and my wolfen features ensured that she was noy just ignored, but actively shunned - the grudging charity slowed and eventually ceased. Unable, and unwilling, to live in a village that collectively turned its back on her, she set off cross-country to find somewhere better.
Weeks passed in a dull monotony of finding berries and edible roots, striving to survive in the hostile forest - hiding from the occassional band of predatory wolfen and, to her grief and shame, from her own kind. Only her indomitable will let her carry on, that and her desire to see me grow and become a vessel for her revenge. As soon as I could talk she fed me stories of her village - to start with they were full of joy, although her voice was strained when she spoke of past, happier, times. As time passed, however, the tales became darker, the earlier stories acting as a counterpoint, showing me how badly she had been treated.
With just mother for company I learnt how to hunt and how to hide. She taught me what she knew of how to steal; reveling in how we could take from our own kind what we were due. As I grew older she taught me what little magics she knew, mere hedge wizardry in nature, but useful for our life style. By the time I was of age she was old beyond her years. The months and years she had spent ensuring that I survived had taken its toll upon her and despite her formidable spirit she faded from life, dying in my arms one winters eve. Shedding tears of mingled sadness at her passing and of joy that her earthly burden was now over I buried her beneath an oak tree near where out wretched camp was sited.
Her last wish was that I go forth into the world and try and prosper, her dying words spoken with a tremulous sigh were, "forgive them, and forgive me for hating them so." So, after a brief period of mourning, I took what we had managed to save - a pitiful collection of dried roots, berries and stringy meat - and struck out from the camp.
I coursed through the forests and plains, hunting and trapping as best I could, eking out the parlous provisions until I found another village of cat people. Of course, they shunned me, what with my longer snout of a wolfen they dared not do otherwise. At least all they threw were clods of earth, not stones. Later that night I crept back in and helped myself to a host of things. I had to take a basket and a sack to contain all the goodies I purloined - food: proper food, baked pies and salted meat; clothes: unlike the rags I currently wore; weapons: well, a bronze dagger - at least it was marginally better than the flint dagger I had.
If I was to be a pariah to cat folk, then I would see what the wolfen thought of me. It was easy to follow a trail to a wolfen camp. For some reason they don't seem to mind people knowing where they reside - perhaps their arrogance will be their downfall one of these days. To be on the safe side I watched from cover at the edge of their village, trying to see what hierarchy they possessed. I was rather glad that I had taken this precaution for, not long after dawn, I saw a young girl being tied to a pole at the village centre. I watched with bemusement as this went on, wondering what crime she had commited. As the light increased and the village stirred I discovered her 'crime'. Like me she was a half-breed. I watched with horror as she was stripped of the rags she wore and flogged. Almost I turned away, unable to watch, but I forced myself to endure. If she, a fellow out-cast, had to endure this, then the least I could do was not to turn my face away. With tears of a silent grief trickling down my cheeks I watched each lash of the whip strike home. With grim determination I bit back the rush of nausea I felt - I would not demean myself, or, more importantly to me, her, by being sick.
Each male in the village taking a turn to lay on a lash. Her mewls and sobs of pain were ignored - no, not ignored, they were relished by some of the wolfen. Once the punishment was done they left her tied and bleeding to the pole, her starved body running with rivulets of blood, matting her fur and staining the ground beneath her. My breath was coming in rasping pants, tongue lolling out as my stomach heaved in rebellion at the sight. Refusing to give in to the sickness that welled up within me I retreated some way from the village and curled up in a small ball, hidden under a thin layer of leaves and under growth. I vowed that come night fall I would do something about this.
With the aid of a waxing moon I sneaked my way back to my previous observation point. The pale light showed me the girl still tied to the pole. Casting my gaze around and stilling my breathing I searched for the sighs and sounds of any guards or sentry patrols. Nothing. All was still. Fearing discovery at any moment I slipped into the village, dodging from tiny shred of shadow to the side of the village well, making the best use of the available cover. The last distance was in all in the open, not a scrap of cover to help hide me from view. With a final careful surveillance I took a slow deep breath and dashed on silent pads to the pole. Crouching down by the girls side I started to cut through the leather thongs that bound her wrists to the pole. After her ordeal I didn't really expect her to jump with joy at my arrival and freeing of her, but what I really didn't expect was her rigid body to collapse, cold and lifeless against mine.
I swallowed convulsively, fighting the urge to howl out loud my grief and my anguish. After what was only moment, but seemed an eternity, I cradled the girl in my arms, a plan forming in my mind. Removing the thongs from her wrists I chewed at the ends I had cut, making it look like thay had been gnawed through. leaving the cruel strips of leather beside the pole I picked the girl up, staggered by how little she weighed. I made a bee-line for the well, uncaring of being seen, but being careful to leave the occassional trace of my passing. Once at the well I took out a length of rope and tied a loop under her arms. Praying the rope would be long enough I carefully lifted her up and nudged her over the side of the well.
Grasping the rope I slowly lowered her down into the well, letting the rope go once she had entered the water. With a silent farewell and with the fervent hope that in death she may at least claim a portion of revenge I slipped out of the village, leaving sufficient trace to convince the wolfen of her escape.
Long days passed as I traipsed through the lands: it seemed I would not be welcomed by either of my kin - I had nowhere to go, no one to give a damn what happened to me, and nothing to live for. It was in such a bout of self-loathing and depression I came across a town, one seemingly teeming with a vast range of people. To my astonishment I saw cat people talking to wolfen and vice versa! Why were they not at each other's throat? I lost all sense of caution as I meandered through the town, gawping at my first sight of elves and a moving mountain that declared itself to be a troll. Eyes wide in incredulity I followed the general surge of the people, as they chatted and wended their way through the town, and ended washed up at the bar of a strange place called The Lonely Inn.